


What We Have Instead

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified, Sons of Anarchy
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Venus came from a little mining town in Kentucky? What if an old friend showed up unexpectedly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Have Instead

Raylan hates flying. He hates everything about it - the cramped seating that makes his long legs ache, the recycled air, and most of all the feeling of being completely at the mercy of another person’s competence. In his experience, that is not something you can necessarily depend upon.

Still, here he sits, in coach - of course - squeezed in between a college-aged girl who cracks her gum every three minutes, almost like clockwork, and a sweaty guy in a Yankees cap who feels entitled to both armrests. 

He has to fly all the way to fucking California to deal with a former federal witness, now in protection, who’d been a leg-breaker and all-purpose thug for an organization in Miami. There was a lot of indication that he had returned to his areas of expertise now that he was located outside of Oakland, and might be mixed up in some particularly fucked up business involving several local gangs. 

All of that business seems like it happened a hundred years ago, and he only agreed as readily as he did because he feels like getting out of Kentucky for awhile will help him clear his head. It's complicated there, for him, and he frequently wonders why he didn't leave again when he was given the option. 

Bo Crowder is in prison, but his family is holding the fort just fine. To Raylan's great surprise, Bowman holds the reins now; he had fully expected to find Boyd in charge down in Harlan, but the man is nowhere to be seen. 

No one seems to know what happened to him, and most assume he's dead somewhere. That wouldn't be a shock, though Raylan can't help hoping that maybe he just realized he could do better somewhere else. Even at 19, the last time Raylan saw him, he was the smartest man Raylan can remember knowing, and there was something about him that quite clearly did not belong in Harlan. 

Raylan flies into Oakland and picks up the rental car the Marshal service arranged for him, a shitty little Ford hatchback that looks like it came out of a Happy Meal. 

His one solid lead about this guy is his association with a motorcycle club based out of this little one horse town out in the sticks. 

Raylan is almost surprised to hear that clubs like this still exist and wield any power. Most of the bikers he's come into contact with are just a bunch of fat assholes who like to hang out and get fucked up, screw whores and ride around like they're hot shit. 

He drives to the town, called Charming if you can fucking believe it, and goes to the address he was provided for the club. It's an auto body shop, presumably with a space attached for the the fat fucks to drink and get their dicks sucked. 

Raylan hadn't realized how much he disliked bikers until today - only because he'd never given them much thought. 

He pulls into their lot, and a couple of men in leather vests with MC patches are sitting at a picnic table under an awning, talking intensely. One is older, in his 50s, fat, with curly, longish gray hair, and bearded. He looks like what they'd put in the dictionary next to the definition for biker. The other one is young, blond, and Raylan would lay serious money that he's never had trouble finding a girl since the day he hit puberty.

Raylan flashes his star as he approaches, and blondie gets up and saunters towards him. Raylan snorts quietly to himself - the boy walks like George Jefferson with some kind of joint disorder. It's the most ridiculous pimp roll he's ever seen.

This is Jackson Teller, he knows; he's seen the mug shots. The other one is Robert Munson, also called Bobby Elvis. 

Raylan says, "Mr. Teller, I am Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens. I have a few questions I need to ask you about one of your associates."

"Well, I'd be happy to answer your questions, Marshal, but I assure you we're not harboring any fugitives or planning an attack on a courthouse, so... What else is it you guys do, again?" Teller smiles at him in an almost amusingly cocky way, and Raylan cocks an eyebrow. 

"What I'm doing just now is looking for information. To what end is not really any of your goddamn business, but-"

His words cut off as three guys on bikes roll up. All three of them are eyeballing him as they dismount, and one of them walks up to Teller and says something in his ear. Teller nods curtly, mutters something back, as the man walks away, pulling out a phone. Teller turns back to Raylan with a smile. 

"Seems you're in for a treat, Marshal. We're gonna have a visitor in a few minutes."

"If it's not the man I've come here to investigate, I really do not give a shit about your visitor," Raykan says mildly. "I need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Teller. And I'll tell you something else, I ain't a real big fan of surprises. How 'bout you fill me in on the imminent arrival y'all can't quit smirkin' about?"

One of the bikers standing behind Teller, a man with a scar on his face and a thick Scottish accent says - as nearly as Raylan can make out, anyway - "I'm gonna go tell Tiggy. He won't wanna miss this," and walks toward the clubhouse. 

Raylan raises his eyebrows at Teller, who gives him a placating smile. "She-male escort, did a job for us awhile back. She kind of went above and beyond," he pauses for a snicker from a biker with a shaved head, "and I said if she ever needed a favor, we'd see what we could do. I guess she's calling it in. 

Raylan rolls his eyes. "What am I, 15? You thought you'd throw me for a loop with a... a transgendered prostitute? How are you idiots still in business?"

Teller laughs and gives a gee whiz grin that probably works exceedingly well on a certain type of woman, but Raylan isn't buying it for a second. He says, "Come inside, Marshal. Get you a drink, and after Venus leaves, we can talk about whatever your business is in Charming."

"Venus, huh?"

"Yup."

Raylan is pretty sure at this point that this day is going to be a bust. But he did drive straight here from the airport, and a drink was sounding awfully good at the moment. 

"Alright," he said , and follows the blond biker into the building. The guy's walk doesn't look any less stupid from behind, he notes. 

Inside seems very dim after the bright California sunshine, but after his eyes adjust, Raylan looks around. There are a couple pool tables. a bar, some sofas that Raylan would be very hesitant to sit down on, and a wall full of framed mugshots of bikers. Charming, indeed. 

Teller pours him a drink without asking what he wants, but it's Jameson's, and that works well enough for him. Not his usual, but fine just the same. 

"So, Mr. Teller, what can you tell me about a man named Creighton Jessup?" 

Teller does not have a fantastic poker face, and Raylan can see a smirk start to creep onto his face before he pushes it down. He knows this boy is supposed to be in charge, president of the MC in what is more or less a legacy appointment, but he doesn't seem quite ruthless enough. 

Teller shakes his head slowly and says, "Can't say it sounds familiar, Marshal."

He's clearly lying, and Raylan is about to press him on it when a man comes out of a back room. He's got curly black hair and glittery, deep-set eyes that look like they went past "seen too much" about twenty years ago. That's Trager, Raylan thinks, nicknamed Tig. 

Teller looks up and says, "Your girlfriend's on the way, Tiggy." There's low laughter from all the other bikers scattered around the room. 

"Laugh all you like, boys," Trager growls, "but just because you can't handle a woman like that, doesn't mean everyone's so weak."

Raylan hears a vehicle - maybe a truck - and at least one motorcycle pull up outside the clubhouse. The door opens, letting in a shaft of sunlight, and a very tall, very busty person with glossy brown hair. Another biker comes in behind her, and they walk towards the table where Raylan and Jackson Teller are sitting. 

Teller stands up just as Raylan gets a good look at the woman's face. Once he sees her, he can't take his eyes off her, because she looks so familiar. He can't understand how she could, because he's sure he'd remember meeting someone like this. She's talking to Teller, and seems to be in constant motion, flirting and sashaying around. Raylan is fascinated, and can't look away. He's staring, and then she looks directly at him. 

The second they make eye contact, he knows. He knows exactly who she is, and his mind is reeling with the knowledge. It can't be, but it is, and she knows he's realized it. She looks utterly distressed, and starts to flutter her hands nervously, then stops suddenly, curls them into fists at her sides.

Teller is watching their interaction closely, frowning. He says, "Something wrong, Marshal?"

Raylan shakes his head, but doesn't look away from... _Venus._

"Well anyway," Teller continues, "this is Venus Van Dam. Venus, Marshal... sorry, I actually forgot your name..."

Raylan is about to give it, but Venus interjects. "Raylan Givens." 

The voice, Raylan can't believe he didn't recognize it right away. It's not exactly the same - it's a little higher, more feminine, but the cadences, the accent, the way it wraps around the syllables of his name, that couldn't be anyone but Boyd Crowder. 

Teller is gaping at Raylan now, and he says, "You two know each other? What, are you a client?"

With that, Venus/Boyd turns on her heel and clicks her way out of the clubhouse. Raylan stifles a burst of hysterical laughter, then tosses back the rest of the whiskey in the glass in front of him. 

He gets up and starts walking toward the door. "Excuse me a minute, fellas. I gotta go... say hi to a very old friend."

He walks out into the bright sunlit lot, and over to where she is standing, on the other side of the truck that's parked there. She's holding a cigarette in her mouth and trying to light it with a shaking hand. Raylan takes the lighter from her and flicks up the flame, holds it to the end of her cigarette, hands it back to her. He leans against the truck next to her. 

Neither of them speaks for a few minutes. Finally, she blows out a lungful of smoke and says, "I go all the way across the goddamn country so I don't have to worry about running into anyone, and when I do, it's you. Other than Daddy, probably the one I was dreading the most."

Raylan's head rocks back a little, like he's been smacked. "Why would you dread that so much? What did you think I would do?"

"Raylan... I realize you had a lot of shit on your mind back then, you had other things to worry about, but in all the time you and I spent drinking and hanging out together, did it never once occur to you that I might have had more than friendly feelings for you?" 

She's not looking anywhere near him, casting her eyes around the lot, then rummaging in her bag for another smoke.

"Well... yeah, maybe once or twice. I didn't care. I needed a friend, you were a good one. You saved my life. Listen, Boyd -"

"That's not my name, Raylan." She's looking at him now, and there's less anxiety, more warmth in her face than before.

Raylan nods. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just having a little trouble calling you Venus."

"Well, lucky for you, that's not my name either, just my professional moniker." She's smiling at him now, just a little.

Raylan raises his eyebrows at her and says, "So what do I call you?"

"Brett."

"Brett? Ain't that a boy's name?"

She gives him a haughty look that he remembers quite clearly from their youth. "It is also a name for a lady, Raylan, which you would know if you had ever bothered to do your high school reading assignments."

"Alright," he says, thinking maybe he'll look up the reference later, if he remembers. "Brett. So you..." Raylan shakes his head. 

He has no idea what he wants to ask. He realizes that he doesn't know anything about this, has no concept of why someone would want to do it, but he knows that if Boyd made this decision, it must have been the right one for him. Her. 

"Can we sit?" she asks, gesturing toward a picnic table on a patch of dirt. 

"Sure, Raylan says, and they walk over. She sits, crosses her legs, and Raylan feels a little light-headed with the absurdity of this situation.

"It's okay if you want to ask me anything. I'll just go ahead and assume you're not trying to be an asshole, even if you sound like one." She's grinning at him now, and he suddenly thinks she's kind of beautiful. In a way. He wonders what kind of man could have the confidence required to be with a person like this. 

"I wouldn't even know where to begin." Raylan lifts his hat and resettles it a little further back on his head, revealing more of his face. "You happy here? With... this?" 

"Happier than I was, Raylan."

"You're so different." She laughs, and Raylan shakes his head. He goes on "I mean, obviously you look different. But you're... Jesus, I really don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sorry. I do sound like an asshole."

She reaches out a hand, hesitates, then pats his arm. Her nails are perfect. "You're doing fine. And I am different. This was always inside of me, but in Harlan... well, like in most places, I would imagine... I couldn't let anyone see. Even you, Raylan, you're accepting it now - trying real hard to, anyway, I can see that - but back then?"

Raylan frowns, and nods. "I wouldn't have understood. Honestly, I still don't, but I don't have to."

She smiles at him, her face softer now, almost like she's taken off a mask. "So... what have you been up to in these past twenty-plus years?" 

"Well... I got married too soon, divorced some years later, met up with my ex again last year and knocked her up. We're not together anymore, but I got a kid on the way. I been a lot of places with the Marshal service, but damn if I didn't end up right back in fucking Kentucky."

She shoots him a lopsided grin. "Oh, shit. Poor Raylan," she says, somehow managing to seem mocking and sympathetic at once.

"Now, who do you think they pick on whenever they need someone to drive down to the goddamn hollers and deal with all the shit those people get up to?" He's thinking of the Crowders, in large part, though he doesn't say it.

"Did you expect to find me right in the thick of it?" She's looking at him like she knows exactly what he was thinking of, and he has little doubt that she does.

"I was relieved not to, but everyone else thinks you must be dead."

"You didn't think so?" she asks curiously, looking at him intently.

Raylan shrugs. "I chose to believe you just realized you were too good for it, lit out for places unknown."

She sighs and says, "Harlan ain't such a bad place, Raylan. I'd have stayed if I could. It's just not a place to stand out in, to be different in. That's why we both had to leave, right?"

"I ain't any different," Raylan replies, wondering what the hell she could be talking about.

"Of course you are. Did you ever feel like you belonged there?"

"No. But... that was mostly Arlo, showing me what I didn't want to be. And it was me, hating the mine, being afraid of it."

"What would you have done if I'd told you... not about this, but about... you. How I felt about you."

Raylan doesn't answer for a long time. He wants to get the answer right, but it's been so long, and everything has changed so much.

Finally, he looks at her and says, "I probably would have told you I was sorry. I probably would have said no. Part of me would have wanted to say yes, though, and I couldn't understand how that could be. I was never attracted to boys."

She's smiling at him real big now, and looking like he should have figured something out by now. And when he does, he huffs out a laugh and feels kind of stupid. "Oh," he says, "well that makes sense."

"I should get back in there," she says, "I need to ask those boys to do something for me."

"Anything I can help with?" He feels weirdly protective, suddenly, and he really hates goddamn bikers.

"No, Raylan. But thank you. Truly. I'm so glad I saw you. That you saw me." She reaches over again and squeezes his hand.

Brett gets up to leave, and Raylan stands. She gives him a look of pleased surprise and says, "You're more of a gentleman than I remember."

He looks back at her with a serious expression and answers, "Well, you're much more of a lady than I remember, so I guess we're even."

She puts her hand to her mouth and smiles at him with her eyes, then moves it to his shoulder. She leans in smoothly and kisses him on his lips. When she pulls back, he blinks at her, steps back, and tips his hat. 

"It was just like I always imagined," he says, "but with a lot more lipstick."

They grin at each other for a few seconds, then she says, "Goodbye, Raylan."

"Bye, B- Brett."

He figures he can catch up with Teller after he eats some lunch. No way is he going back in there right after what he is quite sure they all watched him do just now. He watches her walk to the clubhouse, visibly shake herself, and presumably turn back into someone else for those assholes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to norgbelulah and someotherstorm for the beta help, and especially to norgbelulah for helping me come up with Venus' real name and some of the dialogue about that.


End file.
